


Come to Play

by QuietlyImplode



Series: Rescue Me [23]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Tower, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Everyone Needs A Hug, Hurt/Comfort, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, Protective Tony Stark, Red Room (Marvel), Steve Rogers & Bruce Banner Friendship, The Avengers Are Good Bros, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:21:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27944477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuietlyImplode/pseuds/QuietlyImplode
Summary: The Avengers Tower gets infiltrated by those that took Natasha, looking for revenge. Things don't go as planned and it turns out that taking on five avengers is not as easy as it seems.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Natasha Romanov & Avengers Team
Series: Rescue Me [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1984783
Comments: 14
Kudos: 61





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A story in 8 chapters - can be read as part of the Rescue Me Series or as a stand alone.

It’s extremely quick, the taking of the Avengers Tower. They cut the hard lines, and make it dark, send the emp and cut off all communications, and then they infiltrate.

Lockdown.

It’s 3am.

Safety protocol dictates that the rooms are locked down, no one in; no one out.

They’re looking for her. The Black Widow.

The one who took down the organization, with Shield as her back up. Shield is no more, but she’s still here.

How dare she, the one that used to be one of them.

Traitor. Sooka.

Revenge will be sweet.

She won’t escape this time.

.

They had tried once before, in Morocco. Found out where she was, followed her to where she would be. Took her out and down before she even knew what was happening.

It had been quick. The right intel, always makes the job easy, it’s the variables that make it hard. They knew that the Iron Man was coming; their use of tracking software of the skies above tipping them off; knew that the Hawkeye wouldn’t be too far behind. They inflicted the most amount of damage to her in the shortest amount of time, tied her up in ways they knew would leave marks, psychologically at the very least; then left the minions to fight and escaped. Ready to fight another day.

Try again. Reap revenge, as backed by the government.

Today is the day.

.

They locate her floor. Place C4 around the edges of the door.

Wait.

Go.

..

She’s not here.

They need to do this quicker; speak as such through the comm links. There’s 5 of them for each Avenger; spit up with specific rules of engagement to distract but not engage if not necessary. They’re not here for the others, they only want one. They know the Avengers will fight tooth and nail to protect one of their own, but they have to know she’s not one of them. Not American. Not Russki. She has no place in this world.

The others should be asleep, but they’ve been told not to rely on assumptions, on tech and manpower; these things only go so far to success. With her not being in her area, they’ve already failed.

But; no risk, no reward.

It’s a call to keep heading further in the tower.

They should retreat.

It’s supposed to be smash and grab.

Now it’s infiltration.

They assume she’ll be with Hawkeye. Partners in crime. Head to his quarters. They’re not above taking him out. The team has not engaged yet, assuming slumber.

10 on 1.

Place the C4.

Wait.

Go.

..

They’re not here either. Until.

He hears the sounds of his men going down.

There was 10 of them. Now there’s 6. The 4 taken out with kill shots.

They’re being picked off.

“The vents!”

It’s fucking obvious. The vents aren’t secured, not locked down. They give free movement.

They can be though.

Yells a warning.

Opens fire. It’s not rubber bullets this time.

Stops.

Commands them to come out.

They want her alive, but will take her dead.

Waits.

They can hear the distant rumblings of explosions and fighting elsewhere in the tower. It’s a lapse in concentration that’s costly.

She’s standing in front of them.

“You.” She says with vitriol in her voice.

They attack, 6 on 2 is a fair fight, every kick, every punch, feels justified. He pulls out a knife and throws it at her, just as she throws two discs out.

And then he knows no more.

.

When he wakes, he’s blindfolded. His leg hurts. He realises very quickly that he’s tied down.

There’s cuffs at his ankles, chest, arms and neck.

His ear piece has been left in but someone’s messed with the frequencies. All he can hear is a low piercing squeal of feedback.

Fuck.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce and Steve have a chat.

Steve seeks Bruce out, he hadn’t looked so good when he’d passed him before and he hadn’t rocked up for dinner in the communal area. Steve wondered what was playing on his mind, if he, like all of them was missing the easiness of the tower, the quiet comings and goings of his colleagues and the conversations that were natural and flowed. 

Wasn’t that the point of them all living in the same tower? Team bonding and all that? Steve missed Natasha’s company and by extension, Clint but it had given him more time to bond with Bruce, got to know him away from the big personality of the Hulk and found that they had much in common. Tony was his own wild card, joining in when he wasn’t preoccupied. Bruce, Steve found, was more his pace, liked a cup of tea, the presence of his own company and a simple game of chess.

.

He finds Bruce in his floor, knocks softly and calls out. Inquires whether he’s busy and whether he’s up for company. Holds up the chess board he’d found and the chess pieces.

Bruce smiles and nods, in the calm of the tower they play. He’s not as quick as Bruce with chess strategy but he holds his own in pushing it out to be a longer game. He’s lost twice and about to lose a third, when Bruce stops.

“Do you think, if all this didn’t happen, we would be sitting here playing chess?” He says, contemplative.

Steve smiles. “Maybe not. But maybe it’s the one good thing to come from it.”

“Do you think she’s doing ok?”

Steve thinks. Thinks of his latest interactions compared to the time he confronted her in her room. “Better.” He decides on. “What do you think?”

Bruce looks at the chess board. Doesn’t say anything and moves his knight strategically.

“I think so. She looks.. Brighter? I think? The night at dinner, I was terrified for her. Seeing others like that is so confronting. Maybe I should see the therapist Tony hired. May help me with all..” he pauses, stops and smiles.

Steve looks at his friend and smiles with him. “Bruce, you’re one of the most measured people I know, but you’re right, we all have issues; it’s just so happens that this time it was Nat.”

Bruce nods, takes Steve’s Queen. “Check.” He says. Steve looks down. Damn.

“I think it’s check mate.”

Bruce laughs.

“Yeah,” He says, “just testing you.”

“That’s all three and I think it’s time for bed.”

Bruce stands, and walks him to the door.

“Thanks,” he says, “I wasn’t in the best mood tonight. It helped, having company, and doing something that wasn’t stewing in my own thoughts.”

Steve heads for the elevator. Waves a hand behind his head.

“No problems,” he calls. “Just remember you’re not alone. I’m literally an elevator ride away.”

Steve gets in the elevator and heads to his floor, has a quick shower before checking the time and heading the bed, it’s around 12am. He wonders idly what the others are doing, whether they’re in bed too. Closes his eyes.

Sleeps.

.

He wakes disoriented, somethings woken him, loud noises that instantly put him on high alert. He heads for the door and then realises that there’s no electricity.

“Friday??” He calls.

Nothing.

Tries his door. It’s locked. He’s not too sure what to do but feels that he needs to go check on the others. Suits up, grabs his shield and runs for the door. Bursting through it, he meets masked men with white masks and dressed all in black.

“Fuck.” He says out loud - hears Natasha’s voice in his head telling him to mind his language. They’re lining up their guns and he hides behind his shield as they fire at him, he pushes it away from his body and lines it up to bounce off the walls to hit all five bodies, he hears the crack and breaking of bodies, and cringes. He didn’t mean to kill but it seems that’s what he’s done. Shakes it off. They’re the ones who broke in here.

He stops; thinks for a minute, he’s closest to Bruce furthest from Tony; may as well work his way through. The elevator is out, and the towers pitch black. He’s lucky that his eyes are good and he has the tower mapped; runs for Bruce’s quarters, stairs, hallway, slides to a halt and hopes to all that is holy that Bruce is still Bruce and nothing has happened.

He’s fucking lucky.

They’re all just waiting outside the door. One notices his commotion and they set formation and shoot. Steve has no choice but to hide behind his shield. He watches as they set charges at Bruce’s door and it explodes inwards. His stomach drops; if the Hulk comes out, there’s no telling the damage to the tower.

They engage with him, but don’t stand a chance. He all but takes them apart. They’re keeping him from Bruce and Bruce’s door is in pieces. He finishes the fight with somewhat finality, impatience getting the better of him. Strike first, strike hard.

Finally making it through the door, he locates Bruce in the corner of the kitchen, he’s holding his head and rocking. Trademark moves to stop the Hulk.

“Bruce?!” He calls. “You okay??” He approaches him slowly. No response.

“Bruce?” He calls again. Crouching next to him.

“Bruce..” he says softly.

Bruce looks up, “Steve?” He says a bit too loudly, “I was near the door, my ears are ringing.”

Steve nods. Signs clumsily using the signs that Clint had taught them.

“Okay?” Pinching his index finger and thumb together in a circle.

Bruce copies the movement. Wincing as he stands.

“The others?” He says loudly.

Steve shrugs. Shakes his head. Trying to convey, an ‘I don’t know’ as best he can.

——-


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony has a migraine - it is not a great day for him or the team.

Tony knows it’s going to be a shit day from the moment he wakes up. Maybe he slept funny, maybe it was something he ate the day before; he doesn’t care; his damn head won’t stop pounding.

He’s lucky that they’ve been relatively light on missions, thanks to Natasha, that he’s been able to catch up on work, on things he wants to do - but that doesn’t bode well for sleep. Late nights and early mornings don’t go so well but he has a business to run (kind of) and mind to occupy. 

Sometimes the ideas just don’t leave him be til he gets it out, or he’s terrified he will forget the idea. He pushes through. Peppers already left, answered his late night note on the table with some kisses and a ‘see you tomorrow’, he picks it up and has to really concentrate to read it. He’s glad that she’s not here to see him suffer, knows that this is going to turn into something.. Not good.

He doesn’t have time for a migraine. He’s got shit to do and they’re just inconvenient. He heads to the shower and runs the hardest water pressure he can. Comes out and feels marginally better, taking some painkillers and eating a banana; he gets changed slowly.

Heads to the workshop and waves his hand when Friday asks if he’s ok.

He’s not; but he’s sorta functional. Just needs to do some things and then he’ll go sleep it off.

It’s around midday, he realises that the painkiller took the edge off and he hasn’t topped them up. It’s coming back with a vengeance, and he feels it’s too late to top up without taking something significant. 

Tony re-ups anyway. He’s nauseous, realises he took them on an empty stomach and looks around for something, anything that will line his stomach and help contain the saliva that’s looking in his mouth.

He does not feel good.

He sits for a minute, gathering himself, if only his head would stop hurting, he might be able to think straight.

He runs through his checklist of his usual protocols, it’s all he can do to list them off. He’s had a shower, eaten a banana. Hasn’t tried caffeine yet or icing his head. One step at a time. He can do this.

“Friday.” He calls holding onto the wall next to the elevator, “turn the lights off.” He’s pleased to find all the lights turned nearly off but enough to find his way.

Movement is not his friend.

Heading to the communal kitchen, feels as though it takes a year; he finds Steve making lunch. Murmurs a hello, gathers some supplies and leaves. It’s so bright in there. 

He grabbed two ice packs and put them on his head, puts the Ironman helmet over it to hold them in place. Opens the faceplate and sucks down some iced coffee. The milk lines his stomach and the caffeine takes the edge off. He’s not sure if it’s the combination of the ice, caffeine and painkillers but he feels marginally better. Staving it off rather than let it ravaged him full bore.

He’s just going to lay down, just for a minute.

.

He wakes when it’s dark, rolls over and regrets whatever position he was in, he’s still got the helmet on with the ice inside. Oh right, his head. It’s better. Not 100% but he’s far more functional now at, looks at his watch, fucking 2am, than he was at midday yesterday. 

He’s slept for just over 13 hours. Ugh. He’s wasted the day. Tony realises that it’s not his fault, but it’s hard not be disappointed in his body and it’s failures. He expects more.

Wonders if he can get some work done, he decides on a hour of work and then bed, asks Friday to give him 10 minute warnings to finish up, just as Natasha had suggested. It had seemed dumb at first, but it’d actually helped pull him away, knowing the expectation that he needed to finish up and change activities.

At 2.50 he’s just getting in his groove, he’s reprogrammed a drone and managed to get it to be invisible when the alarm goes off. Asks Friday to wait 5 minutes which goes far too quick.

Begrudgingly, he packs away his work and has the drone fly with him as he heads for his room. All at once, the lights go; everything goes. There’s no light, no sound and even Friday is non responsive which is impossible, unless.. someone’s cut the hard wires, sent an EMP.

“Friday?” He calls.

Shit, there’s nothing.

He turns the corner and turns back straight away, there’s people inside the tower. There’s infiltrators in his home, and they’re approaching; there’s 5 of them in plain white masks, and they all have guns pointed straight at him. The drone transforms quickly into a suit surrounding and protecting him. 

They’ve heard it and open fire on his location, he’s lucky that the suit is surrounding him faster than the bullets are flying at him; he lets off two blasts taking down 4 of the five, the last one runs at him; before any other tricks are pulled, Tony knocks him out; hard.

“What the fuck.” He says to no one in particular. He reaches for his phone, and then realizes, it’s not going to work, everything is fried. He’s lucky that his suit runs on nanotech and not electricity. He hears what sounds like a controlled explosion coming from above.

Fuck, that’s Natasha’s area. He pieces it together as he heads for the floor.

They’re here for her.

——-


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Natasha's quarters are infiltrated.

She’s not much one for sleeping. Not these days anyway. Takes the tablets if she needs to, but often decides against it, knowing the side effects of nightmares and sleep ins. She’s not against sleep, it’s just getting into the optimal mood for sleep does not come naturally.

It’s easier with Clint. He’s a source of comfort and relaxation and has never once turned her away. When he sleeps, he sleeps like a cat, curled up, comfortable and gives soft sighs almost like he’s purring; but also awakened at the slightest. She trusts him to have her back when she’s sleeping. It’s easy to rest next to him, and easier to get into the mood for sleep.

Natasha wanders into his room at around midnight, he’s passed out with a book on his chest. She watches him carefully, wondering how to get onto the bed without waking him up.

“Just hop in,” he calls with his eyes closed.

She smiles and walks to him, lays next to him without touching.

“You okay?” He murmurs

She nods, reaches for his hand with one hand, and his book with another.

“Yeah,” says softly. “Just wanted company.”

He rolls, and puts his head on her chest.

“Cool.”

Clint keeps his eyes closed, as Natasha opens his book, turns it over to look at what it is. It’s a text book on trauma, she turns it over again in surprise. Closes it and puts it on the shelf. She loves him. He’s finding all her cracks and trying to put them back together in any way he knows how. She threads her fingers through his hair, closes her own eyes and tries to relax.

.

She wakes with a start. Something doesn’t feel right. Clint’s on edge next to her, already out of bed.

“Power. Gone.” He signs in the dark. It’s light enough to see but still dark outside. She puts the time around 3am.

She nods. Signs for intruders. Picks up her guns, finds her knife, pulls on her boots and makes for the vents. Clint follows, weapons in hand. They hear explosions which Natasha instinctively knows is C4, and also that it’s her floor. She hears more and feels that it’s down with Tony. She’s worried. Pepper?

Hopes that she’s not here right now. She should have checked on her, should know everyone’s whereabouts.

Anger strikes her hard.

Someone’s in her home.

More C4, Bruce.

Fuck.

She looks back to Clint- who points; his face hard. He’s looking out the vent and she sees them placing charges on his door.

White mask.

She feels herself go stiff and cold. All blood drains from her face.

They’re back. The ones that plague her memories, her nightmares. Freezes momentarily before anger fuels every movement.

Clint falls back, heads back to his room, draws his weapon through the vent. He’s taken down 2 then 3. Gets one more shot off before moving quickly back; Natasha is already dropping out of the vent; as the 6 all open fire on the vents. They’re no longer there. He’s ready to kill them all.

Natasha yells and attacks, Clint’s right behind her. They’re efficient at killing, fighting like a well oiled machine. 6 on 2 quickly becomes 4 on 2 and then 2 on 2. Clint feels pain lance through his side but ignores it, shoots straight then watches as Natasha throws out her widow bites. He has no idea where she even picked them from. The last man falls, and Clint grins.

“Good one.” He says breathing hard.

“Clint?” She says turning to him, his stomach drops.

“Nat?”

There’s a knife lodged in her midsection.

She drops hard to the floor, groans. “Fuck…”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha's beens stabbed - Clint works hard at knowing what to do.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Clint doesn’t know what to do first; secure their prisoner or help Natasha. He needs to take the threat out and considers just shooting him in the head. He looks at the unconscious man with malice. He knows these men. The white masks, it’s obvious, they’re here for Natasha.

He’s trying to analyse everything that’s happened in the last 10 minutes, how did they get in? Know where they are? What the fuck has just happened. He looks to the man again and decides against killing, Natasha used the bites for a reason rather than the gun, trusts her judgement. He can’t help but shoot the man in the leg though. Feels like spitting on him.

At Natasha’s groan he moves over to her.

“It was an accident, I didn’t see the knife.” She says. “I want him alive.” She clarifies, her breathing labored, reading his mind as always.

He doesn’t question her on this. It’s her right, to take revenge, take back anything she feels she may have lost. He looks to where the knife is lodged. It looks deep. It looks painful, but he supposes, she’s had worse. He puts pressure on it, holding her hands in his over the wound trying to stem the blood coming out.

“Lungs?” He questions, feeling that he knows the answer, but asks her anyway.

“Filling.” She responds, shallow breathing.

There’s a clamoring in the hall, Natasha makes her way to her feet, pushing Clint away as he stands in front of her, both of their guns raised in defense.

Tony skids in front of them.

Oh thank god. The relief is evident across his face. Clint’s attention turns as Natasha drops again.

“Natasha??” He questions.

“Tony,” Clint orders, “get Bruce and get her to the med bay. Her lungs filling, she’s been stabbed.” The knife is still embedded in Natasha’s midsection, and Tony side eyes Clint, resists the urge to say something sarcastic. Is proud of himself when he doesn’t mutter ‘duh’. Instead he turns to Natasha and picks her up in a bridal hold. He places pressure across her wound, to stem the bleeding and feels her body tense, a shudder run through her body.

She schools her face.

“What are you going to do?” There’s blood across Clint’s face and Tony wonders if it’s Natasha’s.

“Secure the area.” Clint says, looking to the prostate man and then to Natasha.

“As what was done to me.” She says in Russian with a feral grin. “I’ll be there when I can.”

.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha's hurt.. again, but this time, she's in control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 chapters today, because why not? 2 to go and then this saga is done!

Bruce and Steve run to the kitchen, Bruce is still looking green around the edges and Steve is holding onto his shield. They’re trying to find someone, anyone who can give context into what the hell is happening. There’s still no electricity.

Steve hears the buzz which sounds like a short circuited down the hall; instead his finds a flying drone. Bruce smiles, “It’s Tony,” he says and chases the drone down the hall.

It leads them all the way to the med bay, where they find Tony, holding onto Natasha. Who’s hurt. Again.

Steve double takes at the knife sticking out of her, as Bruce shakes his head and dons his gloves.

“I’m not this kind of doctor.” He mutters, mainly to himself.

Steve looks around and is in awe of the scene. There’s tiny drones everywhere, lighting up the room and casting a stark light on everything.

Natasha is still conscious and looking at Bruce.

“Sorry.” She mutters and tries to take a breath.

“Nat, are your lungs..”

She nods, a short dip of her head.

“So you know I’m gonna have to..”

She rolls her eyes, nods again. Bruce cuts her clothes and pulls them away. There’s blood.. Everywhere.

“Do you want me to give you something for the pain?” Bruce enquirers, prepping the equipment for the extraction of the knife and the insertion of the catheter.

Natasha shakes her head. “It’s fine.” She squeezes out.

Tony and Steve protest, look to Bruce who doesn’t react, instead gives them orders.

“Steve hold her shoulders, Tony hold her hips. Natasha, you can’t move. You hear me? Don’t move.”

Easier said than done.

Bruce grabs the knife and pulls. It comes out with the gushing of blood.

Natasha groans, pushes up against Steve, coughs hard, blood splattering her lips.

Bruce cleans the wound and pours antiseptic solution into it, packs it, applies hard pressure and pushes the wound edges together.

“Steve, hand me the tweezers and the stapler, Tony, get the oxygen mask.” He orders. Tony grabs it from the side and pushes it onto Natasha’s face. Her eyes follow all his movements, as he watches her struggling to breathe. Steve looks around and looks lost. Bruce sighs, “it’s the white thing on the bench over there.” Steve spots it and hands it over. Bruce is efficient in closing the wound, placing 6 staples along Natasha’s sternum, at each click of the stapler, Natasha sucks in a breath, eyes rolling back kn pain.

“Tash,” Tony whispers. “Take something.”

Steve nods vigorously, as Natasha shakes her head.

“You ready?” asks Bruce, pulling out a scalpel.

“No.” Natasha breathes.

“Want something?” Bruce checks again.

“No.” Comes the predictable reply.

“Hold her.” Bruce orders to Tony and Steve, as they resume their previous positions.

Bruce cuts into Natasha side, under her rib and pushes the catheter in. A low keen pushes out of Natasha pursed lips. The chest drain pulls the blood from her lungs, Bruce suctions around it and then applies the dressing over the top.

“It’s done.” He says to Natasha, who’s still conscious and sweating.

“Take it out now.” She requests.

Bruce laughs. “No.” He says with finality.

“You’ve got at least today with this. I want to see how your staples hold, and make sure there’s no other blood draining into your lungs. Christ, Natasha.”

“Can we let her go now?”

Bruce nods, and Tony and Steve step back.

Natasha looks exhausted.

It’s rounding on 4.30am.

“Where’s Clint?” Inquires Steve.

Tony smiles. “On clean up.”

“What happened?”

They each relay the nights events and even Natasha pitches in to provide more information.

Natasha turns to Tony, “Can you find Clint? Help him?”

Tony nods and leaves her with Steve and Bruce sitting nearby.

Steve turns to Natasha. “You ok with me here?” He inquires.

She smiles tiredly. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Bruce hands her water and Steve some coffee, “drink it. It’s almost breakfast time.”

Steve laughs and hold his coffee to cheers with Bruce.

——


	7. Chapter 7

“Clint??” Tony calls. “You ok?”

He doesn’t hear anything upon walking into Clint’s floor. There’s bodies piled to the corner, and a trail of blood heading out the door.

Tony sighs, so he’s been here and worked fast. He’s going to have to call Fury to get rid of the bodies. How dark.

Pragmatically, he returns to his floor, puffing at the amount of stairs he has to descend. He needs to get Friday back. Needs power. He pulls back on his suit, and heads to the generators. Swears when he sees the damage they’ve done; this is going to take longer than he thought. He’s angry, at the infiltration into his home, to his friends. He sends out the nanobots to repair some of the damages and does the rest manually. He realises at the rising of the sun that he’s been working on it for almost 3 hours. He should go check on Clint, rotating the generator and flipping the switch, he crosses his fingers.

“Friday??” He calls out.

“Here Boss.” Comes the AI.

Tony smiles and then sighs in relief.

“Good to have you back.” He says

“Boss, I’ve scanned the tower. It’s safe. You need to head to the basement, Clint is not looking so good.”

“What?”

Last he saw Clint he was fine. Shit. And he’d been out here all this time. Fuck.

Flying out and down to the bottom floor, he enters the tower and then moves down to the basement. He backpedals when sees the scene in front of him.

The lights are on and there’s a man blind folded and strapped to a table. Arms, legs, neck. He balks.

“I’ve messed with his comms too.” Says a voice he knows.

“Clint? You ok, man?”

Clint’s sitting in the corner, leg out holding onto his side.

“Towers clean,” he says, not answering the question. “Bodies are dumped in the ocean with weights.” Tony doesn’t even want to know how he did that by himself in the time it took to turn back on the power, all those stairs, no wonder he looks pale and tired.

“You ok?” He repeats, crouching down next to him.

Clint smiles.

“Adrenaline is a funny thing.”

Tony reaches across and pulls Clint’s hands away from his side.

“Fuck.” He says. There’s a bullet wound, just above his hip. It doesn’t look horrible, but Tony assumes no bullet wound would be preferable.

He pays no heed to the tied up man. That can be dealt with later.

“Clint?” He calls turning his friends face towards him. “I’m taking you to Bruce. Ok? I’m assuming you’ve lost some blood, and whatever happened before I got here isn’t great for you.” He doesn’t wait for a response. Let’s Clint hold onto his gun and carries him bridal style to the med bay where he’d left Natasha and the others. Clint laughs at him.

“That’s two for two.”

Why, why do these two always get injured? Why couldn’t he stop it? Even in his own tower, he was powerless to stop them. He feels so guilty. All the work he’s put into tech for the team seems to be null. Void.

Reaching the med bay he enters through the window. Finds Natasha asleep on the bed and Bruce sitting next to her. He doesn’t see Steve.

“Clint’s been shot.” He says, lifting his mask up.

He dumps him on the bed next to Natasha. Natasha is now awake and moving. Simultaneously, Tony pushes her back down as Bruce goes to Clint.

“What happened?” He asks.

“Got shot.” Clint deadpans.

Natasha gives Tony the dirtiest look she can muster, and pushes her legs over the bed, sucking in a groan.

“Natasha,” Bruce warns, “if you don’t lay your ass back down, I swear that I’m not taking the chest drain out for two days. Don’t make me make it three.”

“I’d do it myself,” she retorts.

“V poryadke?” She questions straight to Clint.

“I’m ok,” he answers in English, directing it to no one in particular. “Through and through, I think. Was weeping pretty bad when I..” he stops, “but then I applied pressure and it’s better.”

“Clint, you need stitches. It’s not hit anything major and looks a bit more like a shit graze than anything.” Bruce admonishes. “Why didn’t you just come straight here? Now I’m going to have to put you on a transfusion and make sure you haven’t lost too much blood.” Clint shrugs.

“I had to finish some things and set some others up.” He says mysteriously.

“Thank you.” Natasha mouths are him.

“Basement. Secured.” He signs with one hand.

Natasha lays back and smiles.

Tony watches the exchange and rolls his eyes.

Bruce sighs. “Staples or stitches?”

“Staples, thanks.” Bruce picks up the white instrument and the tweezers again having

disinfected them from dealing with Natasha’s wounds.

Mutters to himself as he pours disinfectant straight into the wound.

“Ow. Hey! Warning?” Clint complains.

Bruce huffs. “Sorry. Got carried away. Want any pain killers?”

“No, it’s okay.” Clint says with pout.

Natasha laughs at him. “Stop complaining, tough stuff. At least you didn’t get stabbed.”

“No I got shot, it’s worse.” He argues.

Bruce pinches his wound closed and staples it.

“Seven for you.”he says counting them out.

“See?” Clint says, “worse.”

Bruce nods; looks at Natasha; “More staples than you.” he teases.

Natasha doesn’t respond, just points to her chest tube. “Worse.” She says.

Tony laughs. “She got you there.” he pauses and then asks “Now are either of you going to tell me why there’s a man in our basement?”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s here! The last of the @whumptober2020//Rescue Me Series It’s been such a ride and I have to thank you for all the support (for those that don’t know; this is my first fics that I’ve written apart from a one shot last year) - especially those who’ve been commenting and offering kudos. Honestly, you’re amazing. Stay safe!

The black widow is a woman of her word. If she promises something it will come true. It’s the pride she takes in her work, and the outcomes that matter. If she’s marked you or cursed you you better say your prayers because there’s no way of not encountering her wrath, unless you know how to become invisible. They all knew that going in, knew of her reputation and the repercussions of their actions.

She’d promised she’d kill them all. As they’d cut her flesh, she’d spat it out. After they’d pushed the taser into her skin, she’d whispered it, reverently. A promise. A death sentence. They hadn’t been worried. This would end with her death.

.

He’d not known fear until this point. He’s been tied up for what feels like an eternity. His mouth is parched, and the ringing in his ears is driving him insane. He’s started making noises to cover the incessant hum and ring. His leg hurts. He’s trapped.

.

He flinches hard when someone touches his ears. Sweet relief from the feedback, if only temporary. He hears her calm, silky voice. Sees nothing thanks to the blindfold.

“Your not the first to come after me you’re just the latest.” She purrs and then places the earbuds back in.

.

“What are you going to do with him?” Clint asks, hesitantly.

“Kill him.” Natasha replies, honestly.

“Do you want help?”

“No.” She replied with a smile. “I’ve got this.”

“I’ll leave you to it then.”

“Thanks. Keep the others away?”

“Yeah. You’ll dispose of everything when you’re done?”

She rolls her eyes. “Like he was never here.”

.

She starts slowly. First with the knife.

Takes out the earpieces so he can hear her talk.

“You were there, weren’t you? At the beginning, in the Red Room? You move like them. Sound like them. I had wondered why our encounter effected me so much. But now I know. You’re a relic from my past.”

She slices slow, shallow cuts. Just deep enough to make him bleed.

He’s sweating. Trying not to make a sound.

“Sooka.” He squeezes out. Bitch.

She laughs.

“You’re not wrong.”

.

She leaves him with the earpieces in.

Come back when his wounds have stopped bleeding and started to heal.

Takes them out again. He’s not doing so well.

She pours water over his face.

“I have some questions.” She says.

“It doesn’t matter if you answer or not. But it may end your suffering quicker.”

“Why. Would. I. Help. You?” He pants out.

“Why wouldn’t you? You’re not in a good position here. No men. No comms. No help. Surrounded by Avengers. I would assume that you’d want to do anything to help yourself.”

He doesn’t respond.

She prods him with the taser.

“What do you think?” She says jovially.

He answers with a scream.

“Ok, let’s give it a go. Is the Red Room starting up again?”

He doesn’t answer. She pushes the taser into his ribs, replicating their desecration of her body.

“No? Don’t want to answer that one? How about, who sent you?”

He turns his head towards her voice.

“Oh? Interested in that one are you?”

Repeats her last action.

And again.

“Who sent you?” She repeats.

“Kudrin.” He spits out.

Natasha is glad that he has the blindfold on, can’t see her reaction. It’s one of shock and horror. The man that changed her biology, the Red Room chemical scientist and geneticist that took so much and gave so little. She pushes the taser into him once more, longer than she should and leaves to go find Clint.

.

She returns after what feels (to him at least) an eternity.

“I’ve done some research,” she says by way of hello; after hitting him in the head to dislodge the earpieces.

“Bitch. Let me go.” He croaks.

“No chance. You die here.” She spits backs.

“Tell me where I can find Kudrin then I’ll kill you now, quick.”

He laughs.

“Shouldn’t that be ‘or’?”

She shrugs. And then realises he can’t see her.

“They’ll find me.” He says confidently.”They sent me here.”

“And take on the Avengers, that you failed at infiltrating? No chance, they don’t know you’re alive and they’ll never find you anyway.”

She puts her face next to his.

“Last chance.” She whispers. “Where is he?”

He tells her to go to hell. “Say your prayers,” she mocks.

And shoots him in the head.

.

Clint finds her hours later sitting the room. It’s now clean, devoid of any trace of anything that’s gone on over the past couple of days. She’s sitting cross legged in the corner, with her head in her hands.

“You ok, Nat?”

She looks up; looks a bit worse for wear, and nods slowly.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I am.”

She gets up and moves towards him.

“It’s been a rough month.” She follows up, flippantly.

“He tell you anything?”

“Yeah, but that’s a problem for a future us. For now, let’s go.”

“Dinner?” He suggests

“Yeah,” she smiles. “I get to choose though.”

“Deal.” Clint grabs her hand, kisses her on the top of her head and leads her out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come prompt me over at tumblr under the same name if you feel like it.   
> I'll also be putting up some one shots under a chaptered fic.

**Author's Note:**

> Can always find me on Tumblr for more of the same angst.


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